CLING OF THE WORLD
What could it mean
to imagine you,
then try to make ourselves
into one we believe
would please you?
What could that be,
and what is it to be,
and what good
is it to know what
it means, virtue?
Can’t you see
how you confuse this
everyday Jew, who trusts
what she sees?
I have no idea, no
Idea, no descriptive
tendency, no
numinous singular
from which I can
choose. . .
Only a translation,
impure, plural,
the cling of the world,
that-place-where
a verb’s got to do.
Plume: Issue #136 December 2022